I'm Not a Freak Version 1
by Night Strider
Summary: Who exactly is Kaede Rukawa? People think he's weird and snotty, but is it all there is in him? How is he going to prove that he's not just another useless jock? Hear his say. One shot.


I'm Not a Freak Version 1

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

Summary: Kaede Rukawa protests against the misnomer pitched at him. One shot.

A/N: For lack of anything recreational to do, I came up with this drabble that scrutinizes the Rukawa that we know and somehow, the Rukawa that we don't know. Yeah, this is not a sort of a glamour. It's even somewhat indecipherible. But oh...there's nothing more to it, really.

* * *

You look at me right off the bat, and all you see is an overgrown dummy who doesn't talk and move more than the necessity requires. He's too tedious to watch in your opinion so what you do is shut your eyes. Otherwise, you poke fun at him. He walks in a straight arrow like a hypnotized pole; in the corridors of any building, in an ant-piled cafeteria, in a petty, uneventful neighborhood. You'll whisper among yourselves what a dullheaded slob he is, an ultraloner cum perpetual loser. You'll babble about how cute and cool he looks even with that lifeless face he's got. Then you'll smirk jauntily at him because he's such a retarded raven-head; he doesn't respond to anything because he's so cretinous, like the comedians you watch in a dumb slapstick sitcom. So on and so forth...always the same banal comments are drawn from your good-for-nothing mouths.

And if it isn't my monotonous pace, you'll vent your annoying curiosity on my eyes. Yes, they're hollow and inane; that's what your expressions tell me again and again and again and none of it is quite lost on me...That's right, I can read them even without asking. You really had to call my eyes piscatory, huh, like a fish's? Those similar dank, blank eyes with frigid lids. I have the feeling you want to compose a song about Rukawa's 'dispirited eyes, those pitiable, numb pupils...' But have you ever tried staring straight at them? No, I trust? You wouldn't have the pluck to root yourself in front of me and say 'Excuse me, Mr. Rukawa, but can I have a look at your eye?' Even the school nurse never dares to say that for a routinary check-up. That's how frightening I am...that would prove everyone wrong. My eyes are only empty at the initial momentary glance; and I'm not saying this to pull my leg. Later in the process you will learn that in fact, there IS an unusual passion lurking in them and you will be put to shame. Because now you know these dead eyes can slice through the subtlest movements; they can see through you without looking straight, they recognize your musings just by passing you by, and they can judge you at the briefest blink and merest study.

They are that sly for your quality and you can't pull your prejudices on me just by studying my thick exterior only, you'll have to excavate and investigate farther than skindeep observation. But you're not the kind, that I know. All that grabs your interest is the superficial.

You think I'm a drug junkie; a juvenile delinquent who's a product of domestic and scholastic neglect. That's what my ears catch when I bike my way to the sneaky campus. You actually think I don't hear anything. Ha! It's so stupidly funny I can't take it. You spy with those cohesive glances and you can't help but to notice that I'm again in a shut-eye and still snoring like a hazed hound that collapsed from yesterday's swatting .zzzzzzzz. 'He's all gyped out,' you'll conclude offhandedly, or more commonly, 'He's high again.' And giving in effortlessly to your chronic habit of gossiping with me as the primary subject, you'll chatter on and on like a pretty crocked record that's got itself stuck in one note. You'll only give it a rest when it's all over the Kanagawa dailies; 'Rukawa, Shohoku Ace; a Tranquilizer Addict.' Then the whole world will be agitated by the fictional headline. That's how you appease yourself, I memorize it all by heart.

You also know me as a spark starter, a havoc striker who swaggers along the road like he's some member of the British Royalty or a five star general of the Nazi Army. And for that, the puny campus jocks will go swarming in just to shove off my shoulders. Just to tell the world that they're the man. So much for setting a foot on someone else's authority, neh? But what's not their territory anyway? They're Kings of the Alleys, they own the goddamned place. 'You strutting piece of moronic jackass. Whatcha got this time, huh? Come on show it to me, cheeky boy.' They'll snap, hurling hackneyed terms at me as if we were in a liquor commercial or something. Then all they get is a frustrating grunt. They'll besiege me in a bevy and start a rampant school brawl, pushing me into their stupid push and shove. Pop. Arghh. Oh. Ouch. Hah. But they'll inevitably drop on the floor with a heavy thud, one by one they'll tumble and be abducted from consciousness even before they can say it hurts. And I? well, I'll be the last man standing; as cool and as unruffled as before. You people will squint at me with a horrified look as though a gory massacre has just been committed in a stageplay; 'Playground Bully', you'll begin to mock-name me the next time we confront each other. But now you will just slip a distance away from Kaede Rukawa, as if he were some plague you've been trying to avoid.

But the next 24 minutes will be an episode; you'll slur it over right away as if I've just been granted an international pardon. But the truth is, you're all just bloody stoked because I place my share in Shohoku Basketball team's plaudits. That alone exculpates me, if not for the raves of my phony all-girl fan club. I'm your never-fading star, your savior who's responsible for whatever achievement Shohoku made that's worth a mention or two. You're grateful you have me in this pathetic team; I give you reason, and a very good one for that matter, to jump for joy and to celebrate for being one of the best in Japan. Who will be there to remember that my fame is poisoned by my notoriety? Isn't it synonymous to infamy just the same? Not for you. That being forgiven, you will pamper me, commence a mass worship for me, and enshrine my platinum statue somewhere along the cavernous regions of your hearts. You love me too much, and you can't help it.

That's how you view me in your presumptuous perspective, when you have only seen one side of the real Kaede Rukawa. A heartthrob, a bore, a hero, an idiot, a peculiarity, a walking contradiction, and a drugged-out imbecile. BUT YOU'RE WRONG. I'm a son, a student, and a team mate. The last time I made a pass was when I scored my final assist in a practice game. I was snoozing during math time because I slept late trying to answer my homework; if I didn't I won't reach the quota mark to retain my spot in the team. I didn't burn pot the preceding night, but I did light our living room's fireplace by using a match stick. The last time I balled my hand to a hard fist was in boxing rehearsal; no, I'm not a hectoring crackhead. When I beat people, I don't do it intuitively. I beat them only in a one-on-one match for the sole purpose of honing my skills, that and nothing more.

You desire to be me? But there's only one me in the world, one me in this galaxy, and one me in the succeeding universes. As there is only a single you in a lifetime; an equally important indivudual as I in that case. One Kaede Rukawa for eternity is enough; another cold bastard between heaven and hell will just reduce your(and my) existence to a spoilt cliche. I have spoken.

This is me; I'm a plain slug-a-bed who can't offer a lot. I am Kaede Rukawa and I'm no freak.

END

After Word: I know reading this might've been a waste of time for you. Feel free to flame me in that case. Anyway, if you enjoyed it reviews would be nice. I'm thinking of working on the next versions featuring the other popular characters of SD.


End file.
